


Rigor Samsa

by Dammit_Hawke



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: (romantic content starts in later chapters), Action & Romance, All the usual suspects and more, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M, Magic and Science, Multi, Other, Unresolved Sexual Tension, but kirkwall is home, in which kirkwall is shitty in every universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-14 03:16:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4548225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dammit_Hawke/pseuds/Dammit_Hawke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[n. a kind of psychological exoskeleton that can protect you from pain and contain your anxieties.]</p><p>They can't escape the bionics under his skin that flare his lyrium tattoos to life. They can't escape the rifts that have been cropping up more and more frequently throughout Kirkwall. It's all she can do to stay out of the Templars' notice, despite the magic that bends to her will -- and it doesn't seem to help her escape the attention of others after her blood.</p><p>After encountering a dwarf with an impossible gift, Hawke, Fenris, and their merry band of misfits are thrown into more trouble than any of them previously thought possible.</p><p>But with Hawke around, who's surprised?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Monachopsis

**Author's Note:**

> [Monachopsis: The subtle but persistent feeling of being out of place. ]

She wishes, stupidly, that she hadn’t worn this hoody.

Her sneakers scrape against the sidewalk, which is too old and worn with cracks of all the past abuse it’s endured to give the solid footing it once should have. The sparks in her hands etch dark new scars on the dirty path as she tries to build up a charge.

To her dismay, the demon charges her first.

It claws at her and rips the upper arm of her hoodie sleeve, marking it as useless as the already frayed lower half of the sleeve. But the next moment she’s sending a current through the demon, just strong enough to fry what flesh and substance its mangled body is made of. It lets out a grating cry and falls, reduced to dust.

Before she can dream of sighing in relief, she turns toward the flashing green thing still cracking and lighting the street, warping the air around it. It whips and pulls at her short hair as another demon steps through, screeching to announce itself.

“Maker, do you just keep getting uglier?” She chides, then laughs because there’s just something so ridiculous about it all. “Where the fuck are you even coming from.”

Instead of answering, the demon spits at her, the acid working quickly to eat away at her jeans. She swears under her breath, drawing in a cooling breath to bring frost to her fingertips. She draws her hands up, urging the ice to creep from the ground around the demon’s legs, encasing it up to its twisted hips in an icy, vice like grip.

It struggles in place, only enraged by the restraint. It buys her the time she needs to center herself, find a warmth that spreads from her belly to her shoulders as she shifts to strike again -- but before she can, there’s a shout from behind her that makes her whip around in surprise.

“Get down!”

She sees the dwarf just long enough to spot the gun in her hand, pointed right past her at the demon. It’s all the motivation she needs to duck out of the way; she may be reckless, but she doesn’t have a death wish.

The dwarf shoots as soon as she has a clear shot, hitting the demon with three bullets before she lifts a hand, snapping her fingers.

Like they’d been triggered, each place the bullets lodged in the demon explode in a blue and purple fire, engulfing the beast. The dwarf’s grinning at the new pile of ash, but wastes no time before rushing forward, past the human in her way.

“What are you doing? Are you trying to let that-- that thing swallow you up?”

“It’s a rift,” The dwarf yells as she comes up just short of the green mass. “I know what I’m doing.”

There’s no time for protests, only a confused cry as what the mage can only think to describe as an absolute idiot reaches for the Rift with- oh, for fucks sake. The dwarf’s hand is glowing with the same sickening green as the rift, tendrils of it reaching for its pair. It seems to grip at her, pulling so the woman has to struggle against it, rooting herself in place in the middle of the street.

From where she’s crouched, the mage can only stare in wonder and fear, vaguely aware of the sound of cheap sandals slapping on the pavement towards them.

“Hawke!”

She turns at the sound of her name, reluctantly, but looks quickly back to the dwarf.

“Fenris, stay back! I don’t know what she’s--”

Before Hawke can finish, the dwarf lets out a scream and finally snaps her hand out of the rift’s grasp. It closes in on itself with a loud crack, the air seeming to rush away from where it once was in a gust that makes Hawke have to cover her eyes with her tattered sleeve.

And then, silence.

Hawke slowly lowers her arm, afraid to let out her breath, and watches as the dwarf sways where she stands. She wants to say something, anything to lighten the moment, but her mouth is dry and the dwarf is stumbling as she turns around to look at Hawke and Fenris.  
  
“Well,” she says in a shaky voice, looking down as the dimming mark on her hand. “That’s always fun.”

She falls to her knees, then, eyes fluttering shut. Hawke hears her own voice crying out wordlessly, mingled with Fenris calling her name again the moment he sees her launching toward the dwarf.

“What the hell was that?” He’s demanding, trying to grab for her arm as she reaches to gather the unconscious stranger in her arms.

“How should I know?” She barks back at him. “Andraste’s tits, Fenris. Questions later. We have to- fuck, we have to help her.”

“Help her? After she just- are you mad?”

“She saved me,” Hawke insists in a hard voice. “We’re helping her.” They meet each other’s eyes, a war of wills, before he looks away with a reluctant nod. Some of the tightness in her chest eases in relief. “Can you pick her up? My apartment-- it’s not far away. We can take her there for now.”

He gives a wordless nod, scooping the dwarven woman into his arms without further protest. “Lead the way.”

 


	2. Rückkehrunruhe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Rückkehrunruhe: The feeling of returning home after an immersive trip only to find it fading rapidly from your awareness.]
> 
> Some people bring home strays; Hawke brings home injured anomalies.

His car is old and has seen better days. When he first bought it, he wondered a lot whether it had been decent at some point in time, before the air conditioner broke, and the back windows stopped working. It has things scratched into the doors that he can't decipher, though on his worst night he used to distract himself trying to.

 

It shouldn't surprise him that he'd have a night like this. Hawke's in the back seat with a dwarf she barely knows, the woman's head in her lap. In the rear-view mirror, he can see Hawke brush the woman's short, white-blond hair out of her face. There's worry etched in Hawke's brow, replacing the smirk she's usually never without.

 

Fenris's hands tighten on the steering wheel and he forces his focus back to the road, quietly grateful for the late hour leaving the streets empty.

 

Hawke's apartment building comes into view soon enough, and he's vaguely aware of Hawke urging him to park _"anywhere, just anywhere, Fenris. We have to hurry."_

 

She's murmuring to the dwarf when he finally stops, shuffling to let her out before he takes the woman in his arms again. Hawke's phone is already out, her thumbs a blur as she leads the way. She's clumsily pulling up her sleeve to scan her keyband, cursing under her breath as if that will somehow convince the deadbolt to let them in to the building faster. Fenris slips in after her without a word, following her up the stairs. She's distracted by one of her sleeves, now in shreds around her arm, and starts to pass the landing to her floor.

 

"Hawke," Fenris calls after her, setting his mouth in a firm line. She jerks back to look at him, as if just remembering he's there too. He nods to the floor's door and does his best to keep from bristling with impatience.

 

"Right, yeah. Only lived here how long? Fuck it Hawke, get it together." She's talking to herself, holding the door open for him before they both start down the hall at just short of a run. She gets there half a breath before him, presenting her wristband to the door's key reader, her other hand already trying to twist the door handle.

 

Fenris could swear he hears her mutter "finally" when it clicks unlocked to let them in, Hawke shoving the door open with all the grace of a nug rolling down a hill.

 

"Put her on the couch," Hawke tells him, motioning vaguely to it as she disappears behind a corner, toward the kitchen.

 

The dwarf hasn't moved since they got in the car, though her breathing seems as steady as if she were just sleeping. He can hear music in the other room, though it stops and Hawke's voice replaces it as he sets the strange woman down gently, grabbing a discarded shirt near by to slide under her head as some semblance of a make-shift pillow.

 

"...-barely hear from you in two weeks, can't bother to tell us you got back today, and you come home with--"

 

Fenris looks up as Hawke's roommate, Aveline, charges into the living room, Hawke on her heels. She takes in Fenris, kneeled beside the woman on her couch, and slowly moves to pinch the bridge of her nose. Fenris almost wonders if it would be worse if Aveline could see the green, glowing mark on the dwarf's hand, but it's been clutched in a fist, covered by her other hand, since she fell.

 

"By the Maker, Hawke, what happened?" Aveline turns to her accusingly.

 

"It wasn't me!" Hawke holds up her hands quickly, a knee-jerk answer. "Ok, I don't think it was me. This time, anyway. I mean I know shit follows me but I swear I didn't plan this, or anything."

 

"Well then who is she?" Aveline demands, coming just close enough to check that the woman's chest is moving, that she's breathing.

 

"How should I know?"

 

Aveline turns an accusing glare on her. Not for the first time, Fenris counts himself lucky to be practically invisible in the path of Aveline's anger or even annoyance. For the moment, anyway.

 

"What, did you just find some dwarf passed out on the street and think, 'oh yes, she'll look lovely on the couch.' "

 

"Wh- no, of course not! I mean, I did meet her on the street, but," Hawke stops herself, something in Aveline's expression making her relent. "There were demons, ok? I was just trying to walk home from the shuttle and these demons came out of nowhere." There's a desperation in her voice, a need for Aveline to understand.

 

"Demons," Aveline repeats. Fenris can't tell if she wants to believe Hawke or not. It wouldn't be the first attack lately, he knows police reports have probably crossed Aveline's desk about it.

 

"Demons," Hawke repeats back, pressing on. "They kept coming through this green thing-- fuck, I think she called it a Rift maybe? And I'm like ass-deep in demon ash and, Andraste's tits, woman look at my sweater if you don't believe me. I wouldn't do this to myself!" She holds up her arm, her ruined sleeve pooling in scraps around her elbow. Aveline makes a sound that isn't quite accepting the proof, but isn't entirely denying it, which seems to be enough for Hawke to continue on. "So I'm fighting the freaking demons, barely sent a text to Fenris to come help when I first saw them, and I was like an inch from disaster when this, this, this fucking woman just shows up, shoots the demon with some heavy duty shit that blows it to pieces, and she closes whatever the demons came through. She saved my ass, Aveline."

 

Aveline's staring at Hawke, who's trying to catch her breath as soon as the words are done tumbling out of her mouth. To his surprise, Aveline turns to Fenris next before she speaks.

 

"Is any of this true, did you see anything?"

 

Hawke starts to protest, offended that there's still doubt, but quiets when Aveline holds a hand up for her to be silent. For once, Hawke listens and closes her mouth, though Fenris swears it looks like the act will make her burst.

 

"Only the end," He says at length, glancing down at their charge. "Only her closing the portal. There was definitely demon ash there, though. Hawke insisted we bring her here."

 

Aveline lets out a long breath, closing her eyes and turning her back to the others. She paces as far as the window on the far side of the room before turning glancing over her shoulder at Hawke.

 

"How do you expect to help her? I've seen you try healing before. You're shit."

 

"I sent for help," Hawke fidgets. Fenris narrows his eyes at her and he can tell she's doing her best not to look at him. "Varric's picking up Merrill as soon as he can."

 

" _Festis bei umo canavarum_ ," Fenris spits out at her before he can stop himself. He starts to raise to his feet, the markings etched in his skin glowing faintly where his hands are clutched in fists. "Why would you drag her in to this?"

 

"We need her, Fenris," Hawke insists, drawing herself up as if to match his threatening height. She falls a bit short, but doesn't back down. "We need someone who can heal, and unless you want me to call-"

 

"No." He says before she can get the name out.

 

"--Then Merrill it is. Gut me over it later."

 

He curses at her in Tevene and stalks away, trying to put as much space between them as the small living room allows. Aveline just gives a glance between them and sighs, mumbling something about needing a drink before dropping into one of the free chairs.

  


They wait for over an hour and a half before there's finally a knock at the door, first a few light taps that Fenris almost isn't sure he heard, followed by a deep voice muttering something. A louder knock comes soon after, and Hawke is on her feet in an instant, nearly kicking the coffee table in her rush to get around it before she has the door yanked open.

 

Fenris can't make out what they say in greeting. They follow Hawke in quickly, Varric's hands shoved in his pockets as if there's a million places he'd rather be in the middle of the night. Probably a good number of them include beds.

 

Merrill meets Fenris's eyes sheepishly as soon as they see each other and she gives him a little wave. She's hugging herself delicately, as if her limbs will just fold in on themselves. Fenris barely nods to her, barely moves from his corner of the living room. It's enough to at least make her smile, though.

 

She ends up bumping into Varric, who has stopped so abruptly at the couch that Fenris, for a moment, wonders if his feet had actually turned to stone. He's staring down at the dwarf, an odd mix of panic and relief on his face.

 

"Varric, what is it?" Hawke steps forward, almost reaching out for him. He slips out of her touch, though, kneeling beside the sleeping woman.

 

He's reaching out, touching silver-blue markings on her face. In the back of his mind, Fenris has to tell himself firmly that their not like the lyrium under his skin, and he distantly knows they're not like the vallas'lin that cover Merrill. Their straight edges are definitely dwarven, though Fenris is sure they're otherwise just tattoos.

 

"Maha." Varric breathes the name so softly, Fenris almost doesn't think he heard it. Merrill and Hawke share a glance, Aveline sits up straighter and leans forward.

 

"Varric, what are you doing?" Hawke breaks the silence, a hand hovering near his shoulder, as if she's afraid to touch him.

 

He lets out a hollow laugh of disbelief, not glancing up. Instead of answering, he reaches out to take the sleeping woman's clasped hands, squeezing them.

 

"Her name is Maha." He says after a painfully long moment. "She's-- I know her." Shaking his head, he turns to Hawke at last.

 

"What the hell did you stumble into, this time?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Festis bei umo canavarum** : You will be the death of me.
> 
> So I went to bed at like 7 am this morning and woke up at 11 and my first thought is 'gosh livv work on chapter 2 before you lose it'.
> 
> For those curious, Maha's tattoos look like this:
> 
>   
> [Link](https://41.media.tumblr.com/e47386648308de146c5cfaa06ab99b06/tumblr_nsxm8uSey41u4xk61o1_500.png)  
> Future chapters are likely to involve some Tevene and Elvhen. Credit for references to future Elvhen go to [Project Elvhen](http://archiveofourown.org/series/229061), which is a pretty darn cool lexicon of canon Elvhen, and headcanoned Elvhen -- as well as a grammar and linguistics guide.
> 
> I have a number of ideas and emotions surrounding Fenris and Merrill having a rocky truce that boarders on a brother/sister vibe. It'll get more in depth as we go.
> 
> Also, feel free to message me on my [Tumblr](http://dammithawke.tumblr.com/). or here. I do track the tag "[Fic: Rigor Samsa](https://www.tumblr.com/tagged/fic:-rigor-samsa)".
> 
> Thank you for existing!


	3. Nodus Tollens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Nodus Tollens: The realization that the plot of your life doesn’t make sense to you anymore.]

By morning, the only one who's gotten any sleep, besides their impromptu and oblivious guest, is Aveline.

 

Hawke doesn't blame her. Exhaustion is seeping in her bones as light filters through the curtains, though she tries to will it away with a generous gulp of coffee. The mug warms her fingers, slow to chase away the frost that always seems to linger on their tips when she's been using up too much mana on no sleep.

 

She offered Merrill the bit of lyrium she had left, hoping it would help at least a bit as she set to work. Her lithe hands are glowing off and on, hovering over Maha's head usually. Sometimes she has Varric help sit her up so she can work along her back and spine.

 

At some point, she tries to heal along Maha's hands, but the attempt doesn't last long. The green mark Hawke remembers from the end of their fight flares to life, sparking around her other hand at the attempts.

 

Varric is the only one that doesn’t seem surprised.

 

"Just don't- just avoid her hands, ok?" He sighs, shifting uncomfortably.

 

Hawke watches from the dining table, in full view of her elven friend's pursed lips and murmurs of comfort that sounded distinctly Dalish. Hawke's fingers scratch at the mug of coffee in her hands, itch at it's handle.

 

Fenris seems to be the only one of the four of them that is relaxed, though still awake. Hawke is positive he'd been staring at the ceiling the entire time from where he sits on the floor, his back to the wall and with the best line of sight for the front door. Hawke's hand curls around her mug's handle at the thought; even here, where he'd been a hundred times, he still looks like a spring ready to pop. Like any moment he expects someone to burst through the door and drag him away. Maker, he needs to learn to take it easy for once.

 

Not that she can really be much of an expert at that, right now. The parts of her that aren't begging for rest are twitching, trying to pull her to her feet to pace, leave, do a thousand jumping jacks; anything but just sit there and wait uselessly.

 

She should ask Bethany to teach her healing magic. It isn't the first time the idea echoes in her head, especially not that night. But for every time she thought it, there seemed a million more excuses to put it off. For now, she's too rooted in her seat to even move past getting up every half hour to get more coffee from the kitchen. She'd likely regret drinking so much of it later, but right then it felt like the only thing keeping her from drifting off.

 

-

 

When there's finally a knock on the door, Hawke and Varric exchange a look. A heartbeat later and a second knock comes, the same as the first. Varric's standing and Hawke moves to follow him, to tell him to wait, but he turns to her before she can.

 

"Let me get it," He insists, holding up a hand. Hawke's mouth opens, a protest on her tongue, but he's talking again before she can even get a breath out. "I know I need to explain shit, and I'll try, but this is the help we need, ok? I know who it is- let me get it."

 

He's pleading, begging her to give him this chance. And when has she ever needed reassurance that she could trust him, before? It feels sometimes like they've been to the ends of the earth and back by each other's sides, and not once has she questioned his motivations.

 

But not once has he been so frustratingly cryptic, either.

 

Grudgingly, she motions him toward the door. He doesn't spare another moment before he's bustling over to unlock it and let in whoever it is.

 

"This better not be a ploy, Varric," comes a woman's voice, a Nevarran accent tugging at each word. "If you have brought me here under false pretenses..."

 

"By the Maker's sagging balls, Seeker, I wouldn't make this up." He sounds exasperated, then holds up his hands defensively. "I know I've made up some shitty things, but this isn't one of them."

 

"Where is she?" The Seeker demands, instead of pressing the argument.

 

Hawke's just trying to peek around Varric to see who he's inviting in when he turns to lead her for the living room, right for Maha. Hawke keeps her distance, watching the stern woman wearily. A man follows after her- a bald elf that seems out of place in her tiny apartment. Varric shuffles out of the way, moving to lean against the wall just above where Fenris is still sitting, watching silently. Hawke slides in on Fenris's other side, watching Varric out of the corner of her eye.

 

"Makers breath," the Seeker murmured, looking Maha over. The unyielding mask of her face shifts, just slightly, to something like the concern they've all been twisting around for hours. The elf man just seems resigned, like he'd nearly been expecting to find her in such a state.

 

"Daisy tried healing her," Varric offers, clearing his throat. Hawke tries not to let the panic rise in her; too many years hiding her magic sets her on edge the moment he outs their friend to these strangers. Her fists clutch at her side, but she holds her tongue for once.

 

"I've done the best I could," Merrill is telling the woman earnestly, Maha's head gently resting in her lap. "I'm afraid I've never been great at healing. The Keeper did try so hard to teach me but she- she didn't get far."

 

The Seeker holds up her hand to silence Merrill, though there's no malice in the gesture. She barely glances as her companion.

 

"Solas," her voice is steady, used to command and control. "You can wake her, correct?"

 

The man kneels, tipping his head with fascination. "I believe I shall be able to, Cassandra." He nods, lifting his hands to hover them over Maha. The glow isn't the same blue Hawke's come to expect from Merrill and Bethany; Solas's swirls with touches of the same green as Maha's mark, purple flecks streaming between his fingers. Hawke's hands twitch the way they would when she was younger, a different place and a different person, watching her father heal one of Carver's many scrapes or bruises.

 

Beside her, she's vaguely aware of the frown deepening on Fenris's face. She can feel his shoulder against her leg, and isn't sure if it's her imagination that she can almost feel him restraining himself from bolting, or challenging Varric's 'friends'. Hawke puts a hand on his shoulder, but he flinches away so fast that it's all Hawke can do to look away and, in place of an apology, move back to the dining table to watch Solas work.

 

He's barely been at it a few minutes before Maha finally stirs, gasping for air. The room seems to breathe a collective sigh of relief, though the frown settled on Solas's lips only deepens. His hands travel down from her head, stopping abruptly over her hands. Hawke can almost see the protest building in Merrill, remembering the results of her attempts, but they die in her throat.

 

The glowing of Maha's hand is pulsing, but dims under Solas's attention. Hawke honestly can't decide if he's repressing it or draining it, but soon enough it lays more dormant than it's been all night. Only when he's satisfied that it's settled does Solas finally retract his hands.

 

"She should be waking any moment. If you'd care to do the honors, Cassandra." He stands and steps out of the way, inviting the Seeker toward Maha with an extended hand.

 

Cassandra nods and takes a knee, looking so similar to a Templar showing her respect in that moment that Hawke's throat tightens. Despite her fierce precision in every other action, Cassandra touches Maha's wrist gently, well above her hands.

 

"Cadash," Cassandra's saying. "Maha, it is time to wake. The danger has passed."

 

Part of Hawke doesn't expect it to work, after a night of watching her lay lifelessly. But a moment later, there's a flutter behind her eyes, a shift in her shoulders, and then she's looking up at Cassandra, sucking in a breath through her nose as if it's the first fresh air she's had in months.

 

"...Don't suppose I got drunk with Bull again, huh?" She mumbles.

 

Cassandra only replies with a sound of disgust, though Hawke doesn't miss how her shoulders sag in relief. "Your humor is as ill timed as ever. Thank Andraste."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So for the longest time I didn't understand quite what others meant by "I ended up having to break one chapter into several chapters". But here I am.
> 
> That being said, it leaves me fussing over possible future chapter titles. If you know of any words that describe something that doesn't have a real translation to English, or a word that describes an emotion or feeling that you might not often hear or use, please dear readers send your ideas to me here or on my [Tumblr](http://dammithawke.tumblr.com/).
> 
> As always, thank you to my amazing girlfriend, Sarah, for doing the beta for this and all my fics. Also for sending me some quality Shia-Motivation when i said "hey so I'm just gonna hammer out two chapters in one day".
> 
> And, of course, thank you for existing!


	4. Altschmerz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Altschmerz: Weariness with the same old issues that you’ve always had – the same boring flaws and anxieties that you’ve been gnawing on for years.

_The silence echoed in his ears, her thin hand tight in his as they ran. He could hear a man behind them yelling through the trees, egging his cohorts in to catching up._

__

_Merrill knew the forest better than Fenris did. She may not have grown up in the area, but the way she weaved them through the underbrush sang of a familiarity he was sure he couldn't have without her aid._

__

_His skin burned. It hadn't stopped burning for what felt like ages. Every inch of the markings that laced over his body seemed to grip at him, tugging back toward the men they were so desperate to flee._

__

_It wasn't the same group as last time; he'd had just enough time to see the hollow look in one of the trackers eyes, the red-tinged glint in their mage's. They only had a handful of others, but they were all thinner than the brutes the other trackers commanded, most of them shorter too._

__

_They had been so careful, this time. He wouldn't let her set a fire, their shelter had been a woven sheet. 'We used them for hunting,' she'd told him, explaining how the pattern was supposed to disguise them. Showing him how to fit twigs and leaves into the weave to make it harder to notice. They'd huddled there, taking turns sleeping and keeping watch. They never stayed still long._

__

_They didn't speak much, except to argue when he tried to get her to part ways and find a clan to take her in. She would refuse every time, and threaten to pinch his ear the way her keeper used to if he suggested it again._

__

_Part of him was endlessly grateful she'd refused, especially when she showed him how to hunt and track food, or when they snaked their way through the trees as fast as they could._

__

_The trees kept getting denser as they fled. At least one of their pursuers ended up lacking the coordination to navigate it, despite how much slower the Tevene trackers trampled after them. Fenris could hear one smack into a tree. Could hear them trip now and then. They weren't made for the Free Marches, he thought to himself. He wasn't either, but he'd had just enough time here that it wasn't as difficult as it was for them._

__

_And he had his little witch to guide him._

__

_By sunrise, Merrill was muttering under her breath about how, of all things, the Free Marches lacked proper climbing trees for them to hide in. They were limping, when they dared to slow down. Any stretch of skin left exposed on either of them ended up covered in scrapes and scratches from thorns and thistles they'd ripped through, or the few thin trees they'd been forced to press their faces into and hold their breath, waiting for the trackers to pass them._

__

_Eventually, they had to stop long enough to catch their breath. Despite all his protests, Merrill set to work healing what she could on Fenris. He bit his tongue as her hands passed over him, clutching his fists at his sides._

__

_Healing hurt. Danarius had made sure of that. The lyrium under Fenris's skin, so expertly entwined with bionics that fed off the magical energy like an endless power supply, would itch at the slightest spell done near him. The direct contact of it felt like a thousand needle pricks, white hot and digging deeper the longer it lasted._

__

_She tried to be gentle about it, and he knew if she didn't treat their legs at the very least that the next time they were found they wouldn't get away. They'd been at it too long for him to have the strength to argue it, anyway. By the look on her face, Merrill wouldn't fair much longer either; how she managed to find the energy to keep summoning her mana, Fenris could hardly have a hope of saying. Despite his reservations about magic, it had never escaped his attention how it could wear on the user. Sometimes he wondered if this was what drove some of the weaker Magisters to the lengths they always inevitably ended up exploiting._

__

_Merrill hummed a song, then, as her hand followed over Fenris's injuries. He did his best to focus on it rather than the pain; it was a wonder, how much that small distraction could help. The first time she'd hummed while healing him, he'd wanted to hit her for it. To yell and thrash and strangle her. Later, he'd realize how mad that pain had been driving him._

__

_Maybe he owed her an apology for having such thoughts._

__

_Eventually he learned to find some slight comfort in her songs. Unlike her magic, it didn't hurt to hear the lilt of her voice on the nights they were sure no one was near. The times she sang instead of hummed, it was always in elvhen -- she mumbled about trying to translate them sometime, so he could understand, but he almost hoped she wouldn't. He didn't want to know what they meant, he didn't want to know the meaning behind him. It already twisted a pain in his stomach the nights he kept watch while she slept, only to hear her murmuring in her sleep half-formed prayers to Falon'Din._

__

_It took a week before they found the city's limits, and another two days lingering outside its reach to debate whether it was even an option. The thought of being lost among a sea of people finally won over their doubts, though their hunger paid no small part in the decision._

__

_Fenris expected the sidelong glances they got on the streets -- dirt clung to every part of them it could, caking in some places to the light Dalish fabric of their clothes. Merrill ended up gravitating closer to him with each block they made it down until he let her wrap her arms around one of his. Eventually, they found a convenience store and slipped into only available bathroom, meticulously doing their best to clean up while they could._

__

_It was easier when night fell. Fewer people passed them in the streets, though when they did Fenris found himself drawing Merrill to his side and glaring daggers at the gawkers until they found the sense to look away._

__**  
  
**

_It wasn't perfect, or even much better then their time hiding in the trees, but they managed to get by for a week, then two. They never stayed anywhere long, never stayed anywhere crowded during the day. At night they slept where they could, taking turns keeping watch just as they had outside the city. Sometimes they found benches, sometimes a fire escape. Sometimes they settled for an ally just to be secure in the knowledge that they were out of sight, even for a bit._

__

_It didn't last. Nothing in their travels lasted long. He should have guessed the trackers would still catch up. He should have been weary when they found themselves on a street that was far too empty and silent._

**  
  
  
**

* * *

 

It feels like it's been years since he's been in his own apartment. It always seems to, by the time he gets off work in the middle of the night.

The Alienage is, at its core, a shithole of a building that's seen better days. The structure is still sturdy and intact, but almost everything else about the apartments it houses are left wanting so much work and care that they're never likely to get.

Not that Fenris had much to compare it to. For as long as he'd lived in Kirkwall, he'd always made a concerted effort to limit his explorations to the necessary; the streets between the Alienage and the market, the Hanged Man, his work, Hawkes apartment, and the three fastest ways out of the city.

Still, it's a roof over his head, a fridge he and Merrill keep stocked as best as possible (though that more often than not involves leftover Alfredo or pizza from work), and a bed of his own. Aveline would always sigh about it being a tight squeeze for Fenris and Merrill to share the space, would eye the tiny kitchen as if she wished she could will it bigger for them. With one bedroom, it shouldn't have been enough for them to share, despite Fenris's insistence that he didn't mind using what should have been a living room as his room while Merrill took the more private option.

He doubted he could stomach having more space between him and their front door, even if he had the chance.

Merrill's already there, when he comes home, humming under her breath as she scrubs at a stain in the carpet. There's a bucket of soapy water beside her, though it smells more like bleach.

"Still not giving up on that?" He leans against the door once it's shut and locked.

A smile blooms on her face, as if she hadn't just seen him a few hours ago before her shift ended. "It'll come out, I promise. Maybe it's just a tad stubborn."

"It's a stain." As if she can't see that. "It's been here longer than we have, Merrill. It's not coming up."

"Well we can't afford to replace it." She rings the sponge she's using out in the bucket, letting it soak up more water before she goes back to scrubbing with determination. "Well we could, but then we couldn't afford rent, and we wouldn't be able to enjoy a clean carpet. This could work though, I promise! See, it's already getting lighter."

He makes a sound in the back of his throat, though it's not quite an agreement. By now he's pretty convinced the stain is just another facet of their apartment that isn't likely to be going anywhere anytime soon.

“Maybe if I froze it, just a little-”

He caught her wrist as she reached for the stain and held it above her head, which she ducked sheepishly.

“Merrill.”

“It’s just a little spell, Fenris. It’s not like-”

“Did you or did you not agree to the house rules, iom hechicera.” It almost sounds like he’s scolding a puppy for licking a chocolate bar. There's no malice in his words though; he'd long since stopped using the Tevene name scornfully.

“I did.”

“And rule number one is…?”

She sighs. “No magic in the house. No magic for chores.”

He takes the pout of her lips as acceptance and lets her wrist go, giving her head a little pat as she walks past her. He's just letting himself sit for the first time all day, so desperate to relax even a little, when Merrill speaks up again, not looking at him. "You should call Hawke. She finally heard from Varric."

His eyes snap to her. "She did? When?"

"When we clocked out of work," she frowned. "She was muttering about kicking his butt -- well she didn't say butt, but- anyway. She was mad he hasn't talked to us all week, you know?"

"Merrill, the point."

"Right, right. She went to see him. Should be home now, though." She sat back, taking a break from scrubbing the carpet.

Fenris grunted his thanks, digging his phone out of his pocket without another word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _iom hechicera: Little Witch_
> 
> So while I'll be using Project Elvhen for the Dalish language, I had a little debating about Tevene. At the moment no one's made as detailed a lexicon for Tevene (or similairly expanded it). So, for this fic, I'll be using Esperanto for non-canon Tevene.
> 
> Merrill and Fenris's friendship is really important to me and I've spent a lot of time debating what would happen if something urged them to bond and look out for each other more.
> 
> Sorry this one took so long to bang out. I have this weird chapter 4 curse with past stories that I had to work past. Should be smoother going from here, though.
> 
> This was originally supposed to be a self-indulgent fic about Hawke and Fenris, with a minor serious plot, but then I got planning for it. Right now, it's seriously looking to end up pretty long. Stick with me and I'll stick with you all, yeah?
> 
> And hey, in case you haven't heard it lately:
> 
> Thank you for existing.

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter titles, and the series title, are inspired by http://www.dictionaryofobscuresorrows.com/ -- which is a wonderful site containing words for emotions you can't explain.
> 
> I've been itching to write for so long, it's wonderful to actually get this up. The next chapter will be up soon -- bringing in most of the other characters. Tagged for future appearances and relationships. Will edit the tags when/if more come along.  
> My wonderful girlfriend, Sarah, has been helping me brainstorm and beta'd for me. Bless her entire face.
> 
> Feel free to ask me questions here, or at Dammithawke.tumblr.com about the fic.  
> I have ROUGHLY 23 chapters brainstormed, 5 or 6 firmly outlined. So more definitely to come.  
> Thank you for existing!


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